Harry's New Pets
by Andrew Aelfwine
Summary: Just before First Year, Hermione becomes a victim of mistaken identity and befriends Fleur in a Diagon Alley shop. Shortly thereafterward, Hagrid buys Harry a very different pair of pets. AU, H/Hr/Fleur/Luna. Mild innuendo, no sex.
1. A Different Day in Diagon Alley

Harry's New Pets  
A Harry Potter fanfic by Andrew yclept Aelfwine

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The characters and situations of the Harry Potter series are copyright J.K. Rowling. They may not be used or reproduced commercially without permission. The use of these characters and situations is not to be construed as challenge to said copyright. They are merely borrowed for this work of non-commercial fanfiction, from which the author derives no financial benefit.

* * *

First Year AU. Harry/Hermione/Fleur/Luna. No sexual activity yet, as they're too young, but heaps of romance.

This started out as an omake for Rorschach's Blot's fic Pet Compartment, but swiftly spiralled out of control.

Many thanks to Rorschach's Blot for the inspiration.

* * *

Hermione Granger had been idly rambling along the strand, enjoying the sea air and the bright early morning. She'd noticed an odd bit of metal lying out on the sand, and knelt down to pick it up. _Perhaps it's a Roman coin,_ she'd thought, washed out from where it lay by the rain last night. A souvenir of the summer holidays would be a lovely thing to have at her new school, something to tuck in with the box of pipestems and potsherds and flints and fossils she'd been keeping since she was first able to walk about and stick things in her pockets. _Perhaps it's even magical!_

But, alas, the instant her fingers had closed on the little scrap of bronze she'd been pulled away somewhere else. It was as if some invisible hand had seized her below her navel and took her away. Confused thoughts of Star Trek transporters and the Tardis mingled in her mind with the old legends of faeries and the Wild Hunt and folk being _swept_ that she'd read obsessively since first she could read and always secretly thought her Nan should have told her about.

And now here she was, in a grimy back room with cracked plaster walls, and a disreputable looking middle aged man was staring at her. He was bald on top, with thick off-brown whiskers that didn't quite compensate, and dressed in clothes that her grandfather would've called quaint and her great-grandfather would've called out of fashion. "So," he said, "a selkie. Hmm... bit scrawny, but I reckon she'll fetch a good price."

"Excuse me, sir," she said, "but I'm a human, not a selkie. And how did I get here?" Why did he think she was a seal person? Was he mad?

His eyes went wide. "So, you speak English. Hmm, that could add a few sickles to the price." So, he was a Wizard. In the back of her mind, she began to wonder. Could he be right? Was she part selkie? She'd always loved the sea, and always been a bit different. She forced herself to stop thinking about it.

"To what price?" she said. "I don't know what you intend, sir, but I am a subject of the United Kingdom. Even now, I'm sure, my parents will be looking for me. And if they don't find me, well, my dad's got friends at Scotland Yard. If you'll just take me to the nearest constable, I'll tell him it's only a misunderstanding. I'm sure you'll not get into any trouble."

"Misunderstanding? Girl, you picked up my selkie trap. That means you're a selkie."

"I'm sure there's some mistake. I'm a Muggleborn, and I only got my Hogwarts letter this year. I'm sorry if there's something I've not yet learnt. But none of my books said anything about not picking up a selkie trap. I'm very sorry if I've caused you any trouble, sir. I'm sure I can pay you back for anything that's damaged."

He laughed. "Silly little thing! You'd not have even seen that trap if you weren't a selkie, of at least three-quarters blood. Haman Harkness wasn't born yesterday, selkie girl. Stop trying to fool me. Now come along. I'm sure some nice gentleman will buy you in a day or two. Even if you are a bit young to be all that much... fun just yet."

If only she'd had her wand. Not that she knew what she'd do with it, but at least she might could do something. The man seized her by the wrist and pulled her along. She wished she'd at least been wearing something more than swimming costume and tshirt. _Don't be silly,_ she told herself, _at least you didn't take off all your clothes, as you were thinking about doing._ Somehow she doubted this unpleasant man would give her anything to cover up with. _Don't think about that. Think about how Professor McGonagall is going to show up and rescue you as soon as she hears there's one of her first year students in a pet shop. And how you'll explain it to your parents so they'll still let you go to Hogwarts School rather than taking you straightaway to Aunt Mildred in Australia and not letting you come back home til you're twenty-five and have your doctorate._

He led her out into a big room full of cages. There were rats and cats and owls and jackdaws and creatures she couldn't quite name. And one particularly large cage; in it was a blonde girl, slender and almost birdlike, dressed in a perfectly ordinary loose white skirt and blue blouse. She was a few years older than Hermione, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and stunningly beautiful. _Good heavens,_ Hermione thought,_ is slavery commonplace here in the Wizarding World?_ For the first time, she wondered about her decision to attend Hogwarts. Could this actually be legal? Would Professor McGonagall walk in, pet her through the bars, and say "Nice selkie. What a very clever wee creature you were, making me think you were a Witch." Would someone buy her for a pet? And what did people do with pet selkies?

Hermione thought of something, and pinched herself. Unfortunately, she didn't wake up in her own bed, sweating and resolving never to eat those funny sweets she'd got from the Wizarding shop before bedtime ever again.

The man opened the blonde girl's cage and shoved Hermione through. "All right, you two," he said, "don't fight, there's good pets. This is the only cage I've got that's big enough, so I'll have to leave you both in here for a while. Don't mess each other up, or you'll both regret it, you hear me?"

The girl responded with a burst of French, only a quarter of which Hermione could understand. What she could follow expanded her knowledge of French obscenity by at least an order of magnitude. The man laughed, locked the door of the cage, and walked out.

The girl glared, and Hermione felt her knees weaken. _What if she thinks our being sold as pets is perfectly normal? What if she just doesn't like me, because... because she's beautiful and sexy and French and I'm not?_ For some reason the thought was heartbreaking in a way that made the thought of being sold as a pet to some creepy Wizard--or Witch--seem like almost nothing.

"Bonjour," Hermione said, holding out her hand. "_Je suis Hermione Granger. Et... je pense que vous êtes vraiment belle._" She couldn't believe she'd just said that. Her French was failing her. Or perhaps she was simply going mad.

The girl ignored her outstretched hand, embraced her and held her tight. "_Ah, chère petite 'Ermione_," she said, "_il faut me tutoyer, chérie._ It's so good to have a friend here at last. And one who speaks some French! I will teach you much more, my little one. I am Fleur, Fleur Delacour. And I promise you that when my Papa comes to rescue me we will not leave you here. I'll take you to France and you'll go to Beauxbatons with me. And no English pig will ever put either of us in a cage again. Did that barbarian kidnap you, as he did me?"

"Um, Fleur..." Hermione said, resisting the urge to snuggle closer to the French girl. She'd read some stories about girls in gaol doing naughty things with each other, after all. She wasn't quite sure she wanted to do naughty things with anyone, but she'd been pretty sure she'd rather do them with boys if and when she did do them. Of course, that was before she'd met Fleur, but it was important to try to hold on to one's principles. Or at least she'd always thought so. "I'm so very pleased to meet you. Do... do you mean this isn't legal?"

"Of course it is not legal, darling," Fleur said, stroking her hair. "Even in England, even with that pig Fudge and that sow Umbridge. We will get free, never fear. Just let Fleur take care of you..." They huddled in the corner on a pile of straw and fell asleep.

* * *

Hermione woke to the sound of footsteps, a heavy tread that shook the cage. She heard two voices, a boy's and a man's; the man had a West Country accent and laughed often as he talked about owls and jackdaws and hares and rats. She opened her eyes, realising that, one, the business with the coin and the cage and the beautiful French girl hadn't been a dream, and, two, there was a giant in the room. She hoped he wasn't shopping for his dinner.

But no, the huge man in the moleskin overcoat looked and sounded as honest and kind as a friendly countryman in a Famous Five novel. And the boy with him, although badly dressed, looked... very likeable, at least as boys went. He was about her age, with unruly black hair and green eyes behind thick glasses. And he had an odd scar on his forehead. There had been something about a boy and a scar, in one of her new books.

Fleur was still holding her. She liked that. "_Mmm, ma petite 'Ermione_," the girl murmured, her breath fluttering Hermione's hair. She supposed on some level she should be embarassed to have a boy staring at her while she lay there with another girl hugging her, but at this point she almost didn't care. At least there was comfort-_-but wait! What if he buys one of us? And only one?_

The boy with the scar was supposed to be famous, she muzzily remembered--the giant was presumably an old family retainer. There was only one thing to do, she realised: convince him to buy both of them. He probably had the money, even if his clothes were rubbish... you never could tell what clothes meant with Wizards, anyhow. Especially Muggle clothes. She'd seen an old man dressed in a paisley lavalava, a Jethro Tull tshirt, and blue sandals with pink socks just the other day, walking down the street with an owl on his shoulder. He'd tipped his pointy hat to her, and she'd known she was the only person in the street who could see him. Would have tipped his hat to her if he'd known she was only a selkie and not really a bright little Muggleborn Witch just before leaving for Hogwarts?

"Hagrid," the boy said, "look!"

"Hmm, I ent never seen critters quite like them twain afore," the giant said. "Right pretty... Yeh like 'em, 'Arry?"

"Yes," he said brightly. "But... there's two of them. And the letter said I could only have an owl or a cat or a toad..." His face fell.

"Don't yeh worry yer 'ead, lad. I'll get 'em both for yeh."

"But we're not pets," Hermione found herself saying. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Fleur Delacour. And--" Fleur covered her mouth, very gently

"Follow my lead, chérie," she whispered, sitting up. Louder, and exaggerating her accent, she said "Ah, most noble 'Arry, eet would be a pleasure for 'Ermione and me to be your pets. A--'ow you say?--very great pleasure indeed."

"Are you sure, Hagrid? They must be terribly expensive." Harry said quietly.

"Course I'm sure. They're a pair, 'Arry. Ent right ter separate a pair of--" he paused to read the sign on their cage, his lips moving slightly-- "well, a Veela an' a Selkie girl that likes each other. Besides... well, yeh'll unnerstan when yer a bit older, like." The big man reddened slightly. "It's a mort of yer birthdays I've missed. Don't 'ave much else ter spend money on, besides. An' yer Dad would want yeh ter have 'em, wouldn't he ever?"

"I'll call you Hedwig and... Aelgifu?" Harry said brightly.

"Fleur," Fleur said. "And 'Ermione."

"Are you sure?"

"You know anyt'ing about _nous les Vélanes_, we the Veelas, 'Arry? I do 'ave claws," Fleur said menacingly. She spoilt the effect by giggling. Hermione didn't quite understand that, but... _I trust her. Besides... I don't think she really wants to frighten him. She was only teasing him. Why? Oh. He was only teasing us._ Something inside her felt very funny, realising that. Boys had "teased" her by saying rude things about her books and her hair and horrible things about what they supposedly wanted to do to her or thought she did to her friends or to Miss Marple the English mistress. But Harry was teasing her and Fleur as if they were friends.

Harry laughed. "Okay. Fleur and Ermione it is."

"Hermione, please," Hermione said softly.

"All right. Hermione you are. It's nice to meet you, Hermione." Their eyes met, and for the second time in less than twenty four hours Hermione felt something warm in her belly, something that made her knees weak. It was if she were sinking into what was either the best dream or the worst nightmare she'd ever had in all her life, except for the fact that this was real. It had to be. After all, pinching herself hadn't worked.

"It's nice to meet you, Harry," she said. Then, surprising herself, she grinned and added "Or should I say 'Master'?"

He sputtered. "Umm, only if you want to." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I've always thought it was wrong to keep people as pets. I mean, I grew up as a Muggle and I never even really thought you _could_. But I suppose things must work that way, here in the Wizarding world. And if you're mine... well, I can make sure that you're safe and happy and nobody's ever mean to you. I promise I'll take good care of both of you. If there's ever anything you want, tell me. And if I ever do anything to hurt you, tell me. I'll make it better, I promise."

She didn't know what to say. Part of her wanted to beg him to take her out to the Muggle world and let her go back home to her parents. Part of her wanted to beg him to run away with her and Fleur and leave this mad place behind, to run away to France or somewhere else where they could learn magic and be friends and never think about cages again. And part of her, terrifyingly enough, wanted to curl up in Harry's lap like a cat and be the very best pet she could be. _I'm sure he'd let me have books, and Fleur could teach us both French... _"Okay," she said at last, hoping the two syllables could somehow stand for everything she wanted to say.

"T'ank you, 'Arry," Fleur said. "I t'ink we can be..."

"Friends?" he said.

"At the very least," Fleur said. Harry slipped his hand between the bars, and the three of them gripped hands for an instant. Then Hagrid was back, with that awful Haman Harkness and his big ring of keys. Hagrid laughed with Harkness as if they were friends, but, as Hermione couldn't help but notice, his laugh didn't sound the same as it had sounded when he was talking with Harry. It was a bit louder, a bit sharper. _I don't think he actually likes him very much,_ she thought.

It felt unpleasant to have a collar put round her neck, complete with a leash and a little dangling tag that said "Please Return to Harry James Potter," but at least she was with Fleur. And Harry truly did seem very nice, despite being someone who'd just been given two girls as pets by an old family friend. He didn't tug at their leashes, for one thing. "I don't really like this," he said as they followed Hagrid towards the Leaky Cauldron, "but they said I had to. Said I couldn't just let my pets run loose and all that. If you'll promise not to run away, I'll let you off the leashes as soon as we're out in Muggle London again."

"Of course we'll not run away from our 'andsome _Maître_ 'Arry," Fleur said, stroking his forearm.

"You can even have the collars off, if you like," Harry said, blushing. "Although... they do look sort of nice on you. On both of you."

Part of Hermione wanted to hit him. The other part wanted to kiss him. _He thinks something looks nice on me!_ She'd never thought a boy would notice her before she went up to Oxford, and perhaps not even then.

At least the people in the street didn't gawk at them. Harry kept his head low and brushed his fringe down over his scar. Hermione didn't know if she should be grateful that they didn't stare, or disgusted that Wizards and Witches apparently thought it was perfectly normal for a boy to be walking along with two girls on leashes. Although perhaps it was simply that Wizards and Witches--these ones, at least--didn't attend to anything at all that didn't concern them. The number of people who were talking to either disembodied spirits or the empty air tended to favour the latter hypothesis.

One girl, perhaps a bit younger than herself, did attend. "Daddy, look! It's Harry Potter, and he's got two girls for pets! Quickly, please, sell me to him!" She bounced up and down, her waist-long blonde hair flying, her radish earrings jingling.

"Now, Luna, really," he said. He was a tall slender man with longish disordered grey hair, who looked as if he should be the girl's grandfather, not her father.

"But... your business is failing! You don't know how you'll feed me! I'll only cost a Sickle, and I'll be a very very good little pet."

"The Quibbler's running at a profit, Luna, and Mr. Weasley's Secrets of the Muggles books alone are enough to keep Llanfair Press in business. I promised your mother I'd never sell you into slavery."

"You'd not be selling me as a _slave_, Daddy. You'd be selling me as a _pet_. It's not the same thing at all."

"Oh, all right," he said, and walked over to them. "Excuse me, Mr. Potter?"

"Harry, please," Harry mumbled.

"My daughter wants me to sell her to you as a pet. Since you're already keeping two girls, I expect you'll not mind a third?"

"Umm, well... Fleur?"

"Of course, 'Arry. Buy ze pretty leetle English girl."

"Fleur?" Hermione squeaked.

"Trust me," Fleur mouthed. "But of course, 'Ermione," she said aloud. "Four sleep--'ow you say?--warmer zan t'ree, non?"

"Please?" said the blonde girl. "I'll be ever so good. To all of you. And especially you, Airmionee. I've always dreamt of making friends with a selkie."

"Hermione, please," Hermione said.

"Huzzah! Hermione says yes!" she said. "I'm Luna, and we're going to be friends! More than friends, we're going to be... pet-sisters!" Luna hugged her, hard. She was kind of cuddly. Almost as cuddly as Fleur.

"Please, Harry?" said Luna's father. "I'm afraid she's going to be quite unbearable if we leave here and she's not become your pet. She's only five Knuts."

"Daddy! Surely I'm worth a Sickle?"

"Luna, my little radish, let's not be too greedy."

"Okay. I'm only five Knuts, Harry. Please buy me. Please? Hermione and Fleur said yes, after all." Hermione hadn't really said yes, actually, but somehow the thought of denying this funny blonde girl anything was almost unbearable.

"Right," Harry reached into his pocket and took out five Knuts. "There you are, Mr..."

"Lovegood, Harry. Xenophilus Lovegood. Your parents were good friends of my late wife's and mine. I'm sure they'd be delighted to know that you're keeping my daughter as a pet. A pleasure doing business with you, Harry."

"Thank you, Mr. Lovegood."

"Thank you, Harry. Goodbye, Luna."

"Goodbye, Daddy. Do you have a collar and leash for me, Harry?"

"Umm, no. Sorry."

"Oh, that's fine," Luna said. "I've got one right here," she fished in her pocket and brought out a brown leather collar and leash. "It's even got your name on it, as I've always known I'd be Harry Potter's pet someday." She buckled it round her neck.

"There's a strong strain of Seership in my family," Mr. Lovegood was saying to Hagrid.

"Right," Hagrid said. "Ent Madam Trelawny at 'Ogwarts one of your cousins, Xeno?"

"That she is," Mr. Lovegood said. "A terrible shame, what happened to our Sybill. She's never been the same since--"

But Hermione never got to find out what had happened to Mr. Lovegood's cousin, because she turned to Luna and saw that the girl was nuzzling Harry's face. Her eyes were closed and she looked completely content; his eyes were wide open and he looked as if he wasn't sure if he were delighted or terrified. _That looks like fun--wait, is she actually licking his cheek?_ "Luna, stop that!" she said.

"What, Hermione?"

"Licking Harry's face out here in the street."

"I'm taking our master's scent, Hermione. It's important to do things like that, if we're to be good pets."

"Not in public, please?"

"We're pets, Hermione. Pets obey the rules of love and affection, not the silly conventional rules of social discourse." Hermione was simultaneously appalled and delighted. _Somebody my age who knows words like "social discourse." I love her! Even if she is mad as a hatter._

"Pets like us do, Luna," Fleur said gently, hugging the girl. "It makes _Maître_ 'Arry all nervous if we don't."

"Oh, all right, then," Luna said. "I'll be good. Even if 'being good' means being a bad pet and not licking my master's face. And I suppose, lovely pet-sister Fleur, you're telling me that, even though I'm a pet and shouldn't wear any, I mustn't take off my clothes?" Harry's eyes probably couldn't get any wider. It was cute, actually. _Will I ever be able to make him look that way?_

"Yes, sweet."

Luna sighed and nuzzled Fleur's shoulder. "Well, I've got two lovely pet-sisters and a wonderful master. That's worth breaking a few rules. And, speaking of rules, here's my leash, Master." She handed the end to Harry. "You mustn't allow a fierce wild creature like me to run loose. Especially when you've only barely had any time to tame me properly." She fluttered her eyelashes alarmingly.

* * *

Luna wasn't pleased when they left the Leaky Cauldron and Harry took off her leash. "I'm a wild ferocious Luna," she said. "You can't let me run about loose, Master."

"Call me Harry, please?"

"If I must, Master Harry," Luna said, and latched onto his arm. "Since you'll not leash me, the least you can do is hold my hand."

Hagrid guffawed. "Good luck there, 'Arry. I reckon yeh'll need it. Come along, now, I'd best send yeh home. Wouldn't want yer old nuncle and auntie to worry 'bout yeh, right?"

"I'm sure the only thing they're worrying about is whether they'll have to take me back," Harry said. Hagrid took no notice, and led their little party to the nearest Underground stop, where he promptly left them, saying something about needing another pint.

"Fleur," Hermione said softly in her best French, "should we run now?"

"No, chérie," Fleur said. "Do you not feel it? Our 'Arry is a good man... well, boy, for the moment. There is a destiny on him."

"Okay," Hermione said. Harry was looking at them, and very politely not asking anything. "We were just talking about going home, Harry. Where do you live?"

"I live in Surrey," he said. "In Little Whinging. But... I don't want to take you back there. You're all so nice. I've never been allowed pets before. And Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia will probably make me let Dudley play with you. I can't..."

Hermione didn't know why, but the name "Dudley" seemed as dreadful as "Dracula" or "Thatcher" when Harry said it. She was tempted to ring her parents and take everyone home to Oxford. But would her parents let them stay? _"Mummy, Daddy, they followed me home. Could I keep them, please?" is bad enough. "Mum, Dad, I was put in a cage with Fleur, and then Harry's parents' friend bought us as a present for him, and then he bought Luna for a few p in the street. Could they all stay with me, please?" is beyond the pale. They'd have me on Aunt Mildred's sheep station before I could blink. And probably alone, worse luck._ She'd been alone more often than not in her life, and never minded it. But, somehow, life without Fleur, Harry, and Luna had already become a fate to be avoided at all costs.

"How much money 'ave you, 'Arry?" Fleur said.

"Ten quid, fifty p," he said. "And four galleons, five sickles, and one knut."

"Do you trust me?" Fleur said.

"Of course," he said. "You're my pet."

"The sad thing," she whispered in her own language, "is that you're right on all counts." Louder, she said "Give me the galleons, 'Arry, if you please. We're going to France. All of us."

"Could we go to the beach?" Luna asked.

"Not one of zat sort," Fleur said.

"Oh, please?"

"When we are a little older, perhaps."

"Do you know what they're talking about?" Harry whispered to Hermione.

She blushed, and decided to lie. "No."

"We must find a _bureau d'échange_," Fleur said.

"We passed one on the way from the Cauldron," Hermione said.

"_Merci_. All right, my sweets, follow me." Perhaps Wizards and Witches weren't that much worse about paying no attention to their surroundings than Muggles, Hermione realised. One might think that their group would draw a second glance or two. She hoped it wasn't actually commonplace for a stunning blonde teenager, a barefoot brunette girl, a boy dressed in the cast-offs of somebody twice his size, and another blonde in something like a Hawaiian-print school uniform with a lavender blouse to walk through the streets of London. Particularly when the younger blonde was wearing a dog collar, wouldn't let go of the boy's hand, and kept pointing out the invisible creatures that apparently lived in bits of the architecture.

"Now that's an Urban Nargle," Luna said. "Their wild cousins live in mistletoe, but these are adapted to life in the light-up signs of chip shops. And over there, if we went looking, we could probably find a whole colony of Curry-coloured Chip Dabblers. They're the reason why you should never eat chips with curry sauce. If you eat one of them by accident, toads will hate you for the rest of the year."

"Oh," Harry said.

"And right there," Luna said, "is the _bureau d'échange_ we're looking for. But I think that, if we continue on and turn down the next street, we'll find another who'll give us a much better rate for our galleons."

"Truly?" Fleur said.

"Yes. Don't you trust me, big pet-sister?"

It was a long moment before Fleur spoke. "Of course I do. But would you please not call me that in public, darling Luna?"

"Oh, all right."

Fleur did something as she walked through the door. Hermione didn't quite know what it was, but she felt it in her gut and... elsewhere. Harry shifted awkwardly beside her. Luna glowed, as if Fleur's light were reflecting off her. "_Excusez-moi_, Monsieur," she said, holding up a galleon coin, "but what rate would you geeve me for zis?"

The man's eyes were wide. "Izzat gold, love?"

"I suppose it must be, Monsieur. I am only a poor leetle lost French girl, you know."

The man pinched himself. "Let us have a look, love."

"But of course," she let her fingers brush his as she handed him the coin.

"Too young, damnit," he mumbled; Hermione expected they weren't meant to hear. "I reckon it is, love," he said more loudly. "Of course, you understand I ent set up to 'andle this kind of thing normal-like, right?" Sweat trickled down his face, as it were a much hotter day than it was.

"I am only a poor leetle girl who badly needs money, Monsieur. Please, won't you 'elp me?"

"I can give you a 'unnert-fifty quid for it, love. I reckon that's fair."

"Eef you say so, kind Monsieur. I 'ave t'ree more just like eet."

He took the four coins and counted the six hundred-pound notes out into her hand. "A pleasure doing business with you, Maydemoysell. You ever need to 'change any coins like that again, you remember Sam Gruntleigh, right?"

"I certainly weel, Monsieur Gruntleigh. _Merci beaucoup!_" she said, turning gracefully on her heel. "Come along, my friends." They followed her out the door.

* * *

In Albus Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts, a number of small devices of metal and wood and crystal deviated from their calm oscillations and began gyrating in a most alarming manner. One other, which had been spinning sideways since the early morning, settled into a new and different pattern.

Unfortunately, the Headmaster himself had been far away since well before dawn, enjoying a day-long solitary picnic in the Lake District with his zither, a first edition of Wordsworth, a photograph of his dear old friend Gellert, and a bottle of single malt whisky.

Elsewhere in Hogwarts, Hagrid stepped from the Floo and brushed off his clothes. "Good afternoon, Minerva," he said cheerfully.

"Good afternoon, Hagrid," she said. "So, young Mister Potter is all settled?"

"I reckon so," he said. "I sent him off to his fam'ly with some new friends, and I reckon they seemed right happy."

"Oh?" Minerva stiffened slightly. Knowing Hagrid, it was always possible that he'd let Harry swear blood-brotherhood with a pair of young goblin warriors or marry a trio of werewolf sisters.

"Well," Hagrid said, "I hope yeh don' mind too much, Minerva, but that blackguard Haman Harkness 'ad these two lovely girls settin' there in a _cage_. A Veela an' a Selkie, they was. An... well, if I called the Aurors on him there'd just be ten kinds of bother, an' maybe they'd not even actually take Harkness in, an' maybe it'd be weeks afore them poor girls got free, knowin' how the Ministry feels about int'restin' folk... and 'Arry seemed to like 'em, an' they him. So I bought them for him, an' sent 'em all home together."

"Good God, Hagrid. Isn't that slavery, or the next thing to it?"

"Well, 'Arry's a good lad. 'E seemed ter unnerstan' it weren't right to treat 'em like they wasn't people or something. An'... well, t' boy seems ter need friends. The Veela girl seemed ter know what I was doing. I reckon she'll tell 'im what's what whilst they're ridin' the train back ter Surrey."

"And how will Harry's uncle and aunt react when he shows up with two girls?"

"Beggin' yer pardon, Minerva, but it's three. Xeno Lovegood an' 'is little girl showed up when we was walking back ter the Cauldron, an' yeh know how 'tis when a Lovegood gets somethin' in 'er mind."

Minerva nodded, remembering Selene Lovegood insisting that her fifth cousin Xenophilus Sprat had won her in a card game and as a result she had to sleep in his bed and, for some complicated reason that no one else understood, he had to take her surname. That had been their Third Year; eventually Ravenclaw's Head had given in and let them share one of the old married students' rooms.

"Well," Minerva said, "I doubt those Muggles will be any too pleased about that. But first, I'm afraid, we'd better deal with Harkness."

"I reckon you're right, Minerva," Hagrid said. "'Arry's family wasn't over-friendly ter me, but nobody that likes takin' their holidays out on a pretty little island could be all bad. An' how could anybody be mean ter a cute little Lovegood?"

Privately, Minerva wondered about that. But the girls would be safe enough with Harry; it wasn't as if his family were axe murderers, after all. At the moment, it was more important to make sure that Haman Harkness didn't kidnap any more innocent magical sentients. _And perhaps,_ she thought vindictively, _we'll have a chance to hang him higher than his namesake._

**Here endeþ ðe chapter**


	2. Confrontation, investigation, Shopping

Note: This went up on Ficwad as Chapters Two and Three. I decided to squash them together as Chapter Two here on FFN.

* * *

"First," Fleur said, "it is necessary that we buy clothes."

"Clothes?" Luna said. "You and Hermione and I really shouldn't be wearing anything but our collars. And Master... well, I don't know Muggle fashions, but perhaps you shouldn't be so quick to question his tastes, dearest pet-sister?"

"It's not taste," Harry said, "these are my cousin's old things. They've never bought me anything else."

"Oh." Luna said. "Well, in that case, I suppose we should get Master some suitable clothing. That shop looks rather nice, doesn't it?" She pointed across the street.

Hermione couldn't help herself; she giggled. "I don't think zat's quite what we want," Fleur said. "All zat leather could be uncomfortable in the summer's warmth."

"But he'd look awfully good in it," Luna said. "And the shop's even called 'The Master's Tailor.' It might have been put here especially for our needs. And perhaps they'll tell us what Muggle pets should wear, so we can blend in properly. Although, well, you may call me an old-fashioned girl if you wish, but you know what I think..."

"Yes, Luna," Fleur said.

"Luna," Harry said, "I... well, I'm very new to being a master. I've never had any pets at all before, not even a hamster, much less three wonderful girls. I'm afraid that you'll have to be patient with me."

"Of course I'll be patient, Master Harry," Luna said, and planted a very delicate kiss on his cheek. "Well, what are we waiting for?" she said. "Let us go and find our Master Harry some suitable attire."

"Wait a moment," Fleur said. "I must do something." She kissed Harry on the cheek. "Zat was very well said, 'Arry."

He was blushing. Hermione couldn't resist. "You're... a good master, Harry," she whispered, and kissed his cheek. "The next one goes on your lips," she said.

His lips moved for a moment before he could get the words out. "Thank you. You're a very good pet. And I look forward to it." She felt her cheeks warm, and knew her face would match Harry's for redness.

"Come along," Fleur said, "let us go shopping."

* * *

Gérard Delacour was a diplomat, but there was a point at which one was forced to further diplomacy by other means, as Clausewitz had said. Things were fast approaching that point. "Tell me again," he said, "you pink-drenched type of a toad-faced woman, under what circumstances it was that my daughter disappeared from her tour group this morning. And perhaps this time you will be able to explain to me why the incompetent excuse for a guide which your... Ministry provided would lose track of one teenaged girl out of a group of only eight."

"Well, Monshoor Delacour," Madam Umbridge said, "you have to understand how difficult it is for a grown woman to keep up with the... very energetic behaviour of so many young girls. Madam Hopkins was simply taking a slight rest in the Leaky Cauldron. The girls weren't to wander out of sight..."

"And, curiously enough, the other girls have told _me_ that they were simply told to not enter that Alley you call Knockturn, and to come back to the Cauldron at eleven-thirty. And, furthermore, not to pester your Madam Hopkins with 'trifles' whilst she... healed herself, let us say, with what you call 'the hair of the dog.' It was thus that my Fleur's young friends were forced to report her absence, not to Madam Hopkins, their _soi-disante_ guardian and guide, but to one of your trainee Aurors on her foot patrol."

"Well, _that_ was highly irregular, to say the least. They ought to have confined all dealings with the Ministry to the proper channel of their official guide. And really, Monshoor Delacour, it has not been twenty-four hours. Perhaps the young _lady_ has followed the _instincts_ of her kind and found a... gentleman friend. Surely you, as a Frenchman, understand how these things work?" She smiled contentedly. "I'm sure she'll show up in a day or two, none the worse for wear."

Gérard had killed for less, back in the day. "Madam Umbridge," he said, "I fear that my English has failed me. Why, I briefly thought that you were suggesting that my _daughter_, a bright, gentle, sheltered girl, barely thirteen years of age, had absented herself from her tour group in order to have a sexual assignation with some randomly met English Wizard. And that, furthermore, such a mindless act of lust was only to be expected on account of her genetic heritage, through which she is kindred to some of the noblest houses in all of Europe.

"Since, obviously, such a suggestion is both bigoted and deeply discourteous, would never pass the lips of a Ministry of Magic official, and would, in fact, if it were actually said, be nothing less than a personal challenge to duel, I must assume that, despite my having read the English literature at your Oxford, my command of this language has failed me and I have not properly understood your thoughtful expressions of concern and your promise to use all resources available to your Ministry for the purpose of finding my daughter and, if necessary, rescuing her and bringing to justice whomever is responsible for her disappearance. Is this not correct?"

"Y... yes, Monshoor Delacour."

"Excellent, Madam Umbridge. And might I suggest that you refrain from further butchering my language? You are very welcome to call me by your English "mister." Or you might address me as My Lord Gérard Antoine Théophile Delacour, Knight of the Order of the Golden Fleece. But, since this is only a meeting between a concerned public official and a worried father, not a diplomatic conference or an affair of honour such as might result if a young girl's disappearance were not being taken seriously, such flourishes are not necessary. _Non_?"

"Of course not, Mister Delacour."

"Now, Madam Umbridge, I am sure you must go to back to work searching for my daughter. And I will do likewise. Your Aurors are a fine force, but I was accounted quite a decent Hitwizard and intelligence operative, in my younger days. Perhaps my skills at tracking and investigation have not left me, although my only _professional_ activity these past few years has been acting, in such spare time as I am given, as a senior combat instructor at our _Académie_."

_I wonder,_ he thought as he walked to the public Floo, _is her bigotry against the non-human sentient races caused by shame at the possibility that her own lineage results from experiments in the crossbreeding of human and toad carried out by some ancient Wizard?_

With a brief grin, utterly humourless, he dismissed the stray speculation from his mind, and prepared himself for work. His old Seeking Monocle rested concealed in his clothing as it had every day for decades, just as did his spare wand, his wire garotte, his stiletto, and his Goblin-customised Browning Hi-Power. It was time to use it again, without a doubt.

_Blessed Mother Mary,_ he prayed silently, _pray for me to the Lord your Son that my daughter is safe and it is not again time for my other tools to see use. But if it be so... Michael Archangel, warrior against the Devil, be with me in my fight!_

* * *

"Haman Harkness," Minerva said, "Hagrid here told me some very interesting news. Apparently you were engaged in a silly practical joke this very day."

"Begging your pardon, Professor," he said, kneading his hat in his hands, "but I don't follow your meaning. If it's jokes you want, there's Zonko's. I'm your man for owls, cats, rabbits, jackdaws... most any sort of creature you want, really. And of course I'm always willing to give 'Ogwarts staff a generous discount."

"What Hagrid tells me," she said, "is that you were playing the _amusing_ joke that two young girls were part of your stock-in-trade, stuck in a cage to be sold like your owls, cats, rabbits, jackdaws, _et cetera_. And Hagrid, being fond of jokes, decided to play along and 'bought' both of them for young Mr. Potter, the son of my dear late friends James and Lily.

"So... it seems to me that the joke has run its course. It's time for you to be giving Hagrid back his money. Not to mention letting any other people who might be caged up as part of your little joke go back to their families and giving me the list of all your customers so I can make sure that everyone else who might have participated knows that the joke is over and it's time for their _guests_ whom they pretended to "buy" to go home."

"Now just wait one minute, Pr'fessor! I--"

Minerva cut him off. "Oh, and I nearly forgot the part where you donate the extraneous equipment you might have used in your joke, such as oversized cages and magical sentient-creature traps, to Hogwarts for our advanced Care of Magical Creatures tutorials. As, of course, it is illegal to possess such items for any purpose other than that of education, with, of course, the appropriate Ministry permits."

"Look, Pr'fessor. I'm sure this is a funny joke you're tellin' me, but I'm only a simple man in the business of sellin' magic creatures as my family have done here for twelve generations. I ain't wise enough to comprehend it just yet. Why don't you get round to your punch line so we all can laugh and I can get back to my work? If you want to share more jokes, you and 'Agrid an' me can get a drink at the Cauldron once I've closed up my shop. First round's mine, of course."

"Actually, Mr. Harkness, that's all of it. What I've said is what you, my good man, will do. And if you'll not, well, I'll have to continue the joke and call in my good friend Auror Shacklebolt and my very dear friend and cousin Senior Auror Moody. I'm sure they'd love to play along, especially with the part where they pretend to throw you into Azkaban after you pretend to bribe them."

"You just don't understand, Professor. Those girls was a Veela an' a Selkie. They ain't 'uman, Professor. They may walk about on two legs, and they may talk, and they may even use a wand and act like they was proper Witches, but they isn't. And if they picks up a trap or wanders into my shop, an' some gentleman wants to buy 'em, to look pretty in his parlour and to keep 'im warm at night, why, that's 'is business, ain't it? Or 'is business and 'is wife's, if he's got one. But nobody else's. That's the way it's always been."

"The law says otherwise, Mr. Harkness."

"But everybody knows that law ain't _real_. The Wizengamot only passed it so the Frogs and the Krauts an' the bloody _Yanks_ would shut up. It's business as usual for honest British Wizards and Witches, just as it's always been."

"'Ow very _intéressant, Monsieur_," said a voice from the door. "Would you like to explain zat in more detail to zis Frog? Whose dear quarter-Veela t'irteen year old daughter's magical traces 'appen to be in your shop?"

"You've got no authority 'ere, Frenchman!" Harkness said. "I'll call Auror Dawlish, an' we'll see who's took in for what."

"How very interesting, as my good friend and colleague Mister Delacour just said," growled another voice. "Well, Dawlish doesn't seem to be here. So you'll just have to talk with old Mad-Eye Moody. And I'd very much appreciate your answering Mister Delacour's question, _Mister_ Harkness."

"I knows my rights."

"Apparently not. Under the circumstances, to be honest, you've hardly any, as long as we don't leave too many marks. And some of us are quite practised at that sort of thing."

"Well, what about your tame Giant, there? 'E _bought_ 'em."

"Mister Hagrid," Moody said, "if it's him you're referencing, Mister Harkness, acted as a good Samaritan, removing two young girls from your hands and getting them to safety in the most effective and least violent manner available to him. If he'd... oh, say, wrung your neck as a farmwife wrings a hen's, then we might have took him in for questioning. But he's a very gentle man, is Mister Hagrid. I don't reckon he'll be doing anything of that sort. Unless, of course, he's forced to do it in the course of aiding the Crown by preventing your escape. In which case, naturally, no questioning would be necessary."

* * *

"Your boyfriend looks a treat in those clothes, Miss," the shopkeeper said. "You and your friends have a good eye." She looked like a New Age Traveller who'd somehow found herself running a settled business, a suntanned woman with wire-rimmed glasses, red and black hair in many small plaits, and a turquoise in her nose. Hermione's mum would've been very polite to her, but quietly uncomfortable. Hermione found herself thinking that she quite liked her.

"I'm sorry, Madame," Fleur said, "to contradict, but 'e is only my cousin. I am a simple girl from ze country in France, Madame, an' too young to 'ave a boyfriend yet."

"Right, right," she said, laughing. "Sorry, I forget how awkward it is when you're so young. Your 'cousin' is right handsome, then. And your other 'cousins' are lovely girls. It may seem hard to believe, but I wasn't much older than you when I met my husband and wife."

They stepped out of the shop. "Very good," Fleur said. "We 'ave clothes for all of us that will not look too out of place on the cross-channel ferry. We 'ave sufficient money left to get us to my family's estate. The only difficulty, I think, will be documents. I 'ave a few ideas for that."

Hermione looked both ways. They were in a quiet street, and nobody was very close. "Fleur," she said softly, "where did you learn to do all of this?"

"All of what, _chérie_? I 'ave ze natural fashion sense of ze French woman, of course, but..."

"Fleur, darling, that's not what I meant. The way you've been working through the shops--first you got me a pair of flip flops, then you got me shorts at another shop so it wasn't obvious I was walking about in swimming togs and a tshirt, then you started working upwards on Harry's clothes... and now you're talking about documents. It's as if you're... a spy, or something like that." _Oh, God!_ Hermione thought, _now I've lost her. What will I do?_ "Not that there's anything wrong with that," she said hastily. "I mean, I'm sure you're a _good_ spy, if you are one, and..."

Fleur laughed, and hugged her. "Sweet 'Ermione," she said, "don't be afraid. I will not leave you, not ever. No, I am not a spy. But my Papa was one, once. I suppose I am... well, behaving as if I were in one of his stories."

"Do you think anyone will try to stop us reaching your home?"

"No, but I am not sure. Things 'ave been very _odd_, you must admit. I am not sure why that pig thought he could kidnap a girl who walked into his shop, only thinking to look at the cute little owls and kittens, because she set off his 'Veela detector.' Nor am I sure why my tour group was given a drunken old cow for our 'guide,' especially when she 'ad less French than does your kind Monsieur 'Agrid. And why I was made to give her my wand 'for safe keeping,' this also I do not comprehend. But something is odd. Perhaps it is only luck, good and bad all mixed together, but..."

"Of course things are odd," Luna said. "We're three pets, not dressed properly, not wearing leashes, and two of us not even wearing our collars. That's decidedly odd."

Fleur let Hermione go, and hugged Luna. "Luna, my darling," she said, "please don't ever change. But if we talk about these things in public, people will look at us strangely. And we must be... quiet, yes? There is much I don't know about Muggle England, but we are all a bit young to be out in the city by ourselves."

"But people always look at me strangely."

"Only because they don't know what a wonderful person you are," Fleur said. "But... if people think there is something, ah... wrong wit' us, we might be stopped by... _les gendarmes_. You understand?"

"The Aurors? My godfather, Daddy's cousin Alastor, he's one of them," Luna said. "I'm sure he'd help us."

"The Muggle... constables, is that the word? The constables do not know your godfather, Luna. I am sure zat eventually he or my Papa or one of their friends would find us and help us. But until then... it might be hours or days, and unpleasant. For one t'ing, I don't t'ink they would let us stay wit' our 'Arry."

"I wish I could ring my parents and tell them I'm all right," Hermione said. "I'm sure they must be very worried. But... they'll make me go home, and I can't believe they'll let me take you with me."

"I don't know why not," Luna said. "I'm sure they'd see reason, just as my Daddy did. It's obvious that we're all bound up; you only have to look at the threads that tie our hearts together. They're so bright, so strong."

_Is she serious?_ Hermione thought. _Can she see something I can't?_

"You have the Second Sight, then, _chérie_?"

"Is that what it's called? I've noticed that other people didn't seem to see some things, but... you mean it's truly that they _can't_?"

"I'm afraid so," Fleur said. "I can _feel_ it, but there is nothing that I could _show_ to someone who didn't believe us."

"And I'm much the same," Hermione said. "My parents are Muggles; they certainly couldn't see it. And I'm afraid they'd not believe you if you told them."

"And I've only got my aunt and uncle," Harry said. "They hate having me in their house. I can't imagine what they'd say to all four of us. If they _could_ see how we feel about each other, well, that would only give them more reason to make you leave. Or all of us, if they thought they could."

"My family will understand," Fleur said. "We are Veela, after all; _Maman_ is half, and Papa's four-greats grandmother, the Comtesse de Razès, was a fullblood. But they are in France. And if someone meant to hurt them t'rough me, I must believe that same someone will attempt to prevent us crossing _La Manche_. Which means that we must do it as the Muggles do, and that we must be careful not to fall into the hands of the Muggle authorities, whose 'elp could only 'urt us."

She reached out, very suddenly, and pulled Harry into her arms. The other girls followed, as if by instinct. Hermione felt him almost struggle, for an instant, before he relaxed into the group embrace "We must be very strong for each other, my loves," Fleur whispered. "And may the Blessed Mother watch over us. Now, let us let each other go. And if anyone has seen, why, we are only silly children playing, yes?"

Fortunately, no one had been very close. Harry, Hermione thought, looked far too gobsmacked to be only a boy whose girl cousins or neighbours had thought it would be funny to pile on him in a hug. _I wonder,_ she thought, _how many people have ever hugged him before?_ The thought was horrible to contemplate. _I don't know if you're my friend or my boyfriend or my Master, Harry, but, whatever you are, I promise I'll do my damnedest to hug you every day for the rest of our lives. _

* * *

"We haven't seen the boy since your bloody great freak went away with him," the fat man said, nearly purple with rage. He smelt of sour sweat and whisky. Behind him Minerva heard sobbing, and a woman saying something that sounded as if it were meant to be comforting. "Went away with him and left my son with a _tail_, for God's sake. And I'll be content if we never see him again. With or without these daft bints you claim to be trailing after him." He slammed the door of Number Four Privet Drive shut without another word.

Minerva swore as she had not sworn in many years. Hagrid looked shocked. Gérard Delacour grinned at her. "Don't hold back for the sake of our poor masculine ears," he said. "If you have any swearing words left, why, I should like to know them."

"It's no cause for laughter," she snapped. "If Harry Potter's not here, nor the girls, then they might be anywhere at all. Anywhere but a place where we ken they're safe."

"I know," he said gently. "My daughter is one of them. It's just... well, one learns to find humour where one may."

"I'm sorry, Mister Delacour," she said. "I did not mean to snarl at you so."

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he said. "And please, call me Gérard. After all... we both are looking for our children."

"If you'll call me Minerva," she said."

"I suspect, Minerva," he said, "that the fine specimen of English manhood we've just seen would not be as welcoming as one might hope, did his nephew show up on his doorstep with three new friends. Yes?"

"I should think you were correct, Gérard."

"And, of course, I should suspect that said nephew would be well aware of this. So... is it not possible that he has told the girls of this, and that they have tried to find some other lodging?"

"I suppose they might have done," she said. "But where would they go?"

"Well," he said, "it is possible that this Selkie girl has a family with whom they might take shelter. Or, if this is not the case, it is possible that Fleur intends to take them to our family home in France."

"How would she do that? They'd have to have gone back to Diagon Alley, if they wanted an international Portkey. And surely Tom at the Leaky Cauldron would have seen them."

"I would not be surprised if my daughter does not suspect your Ministry of some... complicity in her unfortunate captivity. If so, she will be trying to convey them by Muggle routes. There would be difficulties, with money and with the appropriate travelling documents. But Fleur can be most resourceful.

"So, let us go back to that odious man's shop. Without doubt my good friend Alastor will be returned from stowing him in whatever comfortable holiday accomodation he has found. And, if we have any luck at all, we may find from where he kidnaped the poor Selkie girl. Which will at least help us in working out one of the places to which they might have gone."

* * *

They were in the back room of a café, and, blessedly, alone in the room. Hermione thought the food was a bit greasy and salty, but it was surprisingly good. Perhaps it was that it was nearly teatime and she'd not had any lunch. Or perhaps it was that she was sharing a meal with the best friends she'd ever had in her life.

"Such 'eavy English food," Fleur said, and laughed. "Why, then, does it taste so good?" She hugged Hermione about the shoulders, squeezed Harry's hand, and reached over his head to stroke Luna's hair. "Not that I do not look forward to taking you 'ome and feeding you what I grew up eating. I wonder, will you like the frogs' legs?"

"I quite enjoy them, actually," Hermione said.

"I knew I loved you," Fleur said, "and I suppose now I know why."

"I'm not sure," Luna said, "I've met some very nice frogs, you see."

"Other than me?" Fleur said. "Well, we shall be careful, then, _chérie_, that only mean frogs appear on our table."

"I don't know," Harry said, "but I'll eat whatever you give me. And, if you want, I'll cook it for you as well."

"'Arry," Fleur whispered, "anyt'ing you don't like, you don't 'ave to eat. Or wear, or do, or... anyt'ing. You are our Master, yes?"

"I never thought I'd be any such thing," Harry said, "but if I am... that means I'm yours as much as you're mine. All I know is that I saw two girls in a cage, and if I said yes, I wanted them, I could take them out of the cage and keep them safe. And then I saw another girl in the street who said she had to be mine, and I knew that I couldn't tell her no.

"I don't know anything about feelings. I don't know if you're my friends, or my pets, or if I'm in love with all three of you. But if we were all grown up, and I could marry all three of you, I would."

"Harry," Luna said, "in the Wizarding world you _could_ marry all of us. But all that really matters is how we feel about each other. And I, personally, feel quite happy as Harry Potter's pet."

Fleur smiled. "The law says that there's no such t'ing, zat people can't be pets. But the 'eart, that says something very different. Per'aps we'll marry, someday. Per'aps ze world will know us as 'Arry Potter and 'is... oh, friends or business partners or--how do you say it?--sidekicks. But inside"--she patted her chest--"we're yours, 'Arry. The magic does things like that."

"But," Harry said, "you're not slaves. I mean, I could never sell you. Or make you work, or..."

"Of course not," Hermione said, surprising herself. "If you were the sort of person who _could_, you wouldn't be our Harry. Our master. But you are, and you rescued Fleur and me, and you promised to take care of us. And then we met Luna, and she, well, she was Luna. I'm afraid you're rather stuck with us."

* * *

"Sweet Christ," Minerva said, "that's one of our new Muggleborns! Why did you not tell me, Hagrid, for blessed Merlin's sake?"

For all his faults, these including mediocre penmanship and abysmal spelling, Haman Harkness was a fairly careful record keeper. His ledger even included little photographs of each creature he'd sold, at least the more "unusual" ones. He must have developed them himself, she realised, in order to have this one already in place. The brown haired girl shown sleeping in the arms of Gérard Delacour's daughter, apparently dressed in nothing but a light blue shift with some printed design on it, tagged as "Prime Yung Selkie Girl, caut off Devon," had been in the little group of Muggleborns Minerva had led through Diagon Alley just two weeks before. A bright girl, charmingly forthright, whom she'd hoped might sort Gryffindor, whom she'd even hoped might become friends with James and Lily's inexplicably absent son. _A teacher oughtn't have favourites, especially when she's also a Deputy Headmistress. But Miss Hermione Granger, I must admit, will probably be one of my favourites._

"I din't realise, Minerva," Hagrid said. "The sign said she were a selkie. I knew she weren't the pureblood selkie Harkness thought she were, but it din't come into me head that she were a Muggleborn. I'd never met 'er afore, and she din't say a word about Hogwarts."

"Of course, Hagrid. I'm sorry. It's only that I've met her parents, and they must be worried for her, and..."

"Of course they will be. May I see it, Minerva?" Gérard said.

"I'm not sure you want to..."

"Is my daughter in the picture, also?"

"Yes, Gérard, but--" she paused, seeing the expression on his face. "She's not being hurt or... molested, Gérard, but... she _is_ in a cage."

"I already know she has been caged, Minerva." He took the photograph, inspected it, and, to her surprise, smiled gently. "_Bon._ At least my Fleur has found a friend in her captivity. Not that I shall let that fact temper my opinions of this Haman Harkness. After all, I now know that he has kidnaped not only my daughter, but also her very good friend."

"Well," Moody said meditatively, "he's dangling at the moment. It's almost Biblical, really."

"Alastor," Minerva said. "You didn't...? Not that he doesn't deserve it."

"Oh, he's not _hanged_, Minerva, only hanging. For the now, at least. He's rigged up in a good secure harness, suspended from the roof of a lovely cool dark cave one of my Goblin friends is kind enough to lend me the use of, sometimes when I've a special case like this. I don't think it's likely he'll manage to get himself loose. And if he does, there's a good two hundred feet before he'll find aught to break his fall."

"Are you sure, Alastor? I mean... what if he talks, afterward?"

"No fear of that, Minerva. A few well-placed _Obliviates_, a quick trial, and then it's off to Azkaban with our Haman."

"Even the best _Obliviate_ can be broken, my friend," Gérard said. "Perhaps... well, one more slit throat will not add much weight to that which is already on my conscience. At least this one does not belong to an honest man who only was doing his duty. _Le Bon Dieu_ would not have given us the Sacrament of Confession if He did not intend that sometimes we would use it."

Minerva didn't know what to say.

"Perhaps, Minerva," Gérard said gently. "You should go and find Miss Granger's parents? Tell them we are looking for her, and, we have good hopes we will find her soon. And me, I will go and look for my daughter and her friends."

"It's not 'Arry's fault, Mister Delacour," Hagrid said. "'E only went with the girls cos I said so, and I'm sure he's done right by them. Blame me, if you want, but not him."

"My friends call me Gérard. And I very much doubt I will be blaming young Mister Potter. I met his parents, once or twice. They struck me as good people. And... you said my daughter liked him, Mister Hagrid?"

"My friends just call me Hagrid, Gérard, as 'Rubeus' sounds like some sort of disease. And yes, I'd say she did. I saw her and 'Arry an' Miss Granger hold each others' hands quite a bit, for it only being an hour or two til I left them at the Underground."

"There is something about the Veela," Gérard said, "that is not often understood. As a general rule, they do not give their trust without reason. And their instincts are seldom wrong. Some might say my Apolline is an exception, but..." He shrugged. "Any way, my friends, _au 'voir_. I hope to see you very soon, and with good news."

* * *

"Sit down, Dan," Emma Granger said. "You'll only wear a hole in Mrs. Badger's carpet."

"Damn it--" he stopped himself saying more. "I'm sorry, love. It's... well, you know." _Don't think of a chest full of mad school supplies. Don't think of it sitting there, gathering-DON'T!_

"Yes, I do," she said. He sat himself down on the overstuffed sofa, and she nestled herself against him.

"Do you think," he said, slowly, not daring to hope, "that school of hers might help us?"

"Perhaps," she said, "but where would we get an owl?"

At that very moment, Mrs. Badger, the landlady of the quiet Victorian B&B where they'd chosen to spend a seaside holiday, knocked at the door of the sitting room. "Mr. Granger, Mrs. Granger? There's some one here to see you. A Miss McGonagall? She says you know her?"

**Here endeþ ðe chapter.**


	3. A Conversaton and a Meeting

﻿ "Yes, we do," Emma Granger said. Please let her in, Mrs. Badger."

McGonagall swept through the door like some Victorian schoolmistress out of a costume drama. Her long green dress, high buttoned shoes, and black cloak seemed oddly appropriate in the old-fashioned sitting room. The eccentricity almost distracted his attention from the fact that, despite the rain outside, her cloak and shoes were completely dry.

He waited until Mrs. Badger had shut the door behind her and McGonagall sat facing them across the coffee table. "So, _Professor_ McGonagall. Have your lot something to do with why I've not seen my daughter since eight this morning?"

"Dan!" Emma said. "Don't be rude."

"Actually," McGonagall said, "I understand completely. I'm afraid that some of 'our lot' have had something to do it. But your daughter is safe, and it's also some of 'our lot' who are responsible for that."

The relief was instant, spreading through his body like a dose of some powerful drug. Seconds later, however, rational thought returned. "Wait a moment, Professor. If Hermione's safe, then why isn't she with you?"

"Well... I'll have to tell you the story as we know it."

He wanted to interrupt several times, but Emma gripped his arm so tightly he knew he'd find bruises, after. The mild pain gave him something to concentrate on until the end of McGonagall's tale, which sounded like something out of a children's fantasy novel written by a frustrated romance novelist with a bizarre taste for captivity narratives. "So," he said, finally, "an unscrupulous Wizard took my daughter for a mythological creature. Therefore, she was kidnapped, bought like a kitten as a birthday present for a boy of her own age, and is now wandering about London with said boy, a thirteen year old French girl, and a mad girl of ten whose equally mad father decided it was better to sell her as a slave than to have her throw a tantrum?"

"Selkies are quite real, Mr. Granger; they're not figments like Crumple-horned Snorkacks or the Abominable Gnu. Many fine people, including, evidently, either yourself, Mrs. Granger, or both of you, have some Selkie ancestry. And Miss Lovegood isn't mad, she's merely... her family have a gift for Second Sight. It tends to make them somewhat eccentric."

"Fine. She was mistaken for a member of an oppressed indigenous tribe, kidnapped, bought like a kitten for a boy of her own age, and now is wandering London with said boy, a thirteen year old French girl, and an 'eccentric' girl of ten who insisted that her 'eccentric' father sell her into slavery. Why does this not improve my opinion?"

"Hagrid only bought her as the most effective means of rescuing her. I'm quite confident in saying that young Harry Potter will regard her and the other girls as friends, rather than property. As for the 'wandering about London' part, Miss Delacour comes from a political family. If she thinks that she and her friends might be in some danger, it's not unreasonable to believe that she will go to ground in an effort to protect them, and seek to take them to a place of safety known to her."

"Wonderful. So, even now, perhaps disguised as a New Age Traveller or riding as a stowaway in a fishing boat, my eleven year old daughter is on her way to France with the other inmates of a young Wizard's harem. But it's only because her newfound best friend, looking at things from the mature perspective of her thirteen years, wants to protect her. Lovely."

"Miss Delacour's father is looking for them. I'm quite confident that he will find them before tommorrow morning."

"So, a French politician, a French _Wizard_ politician, is looking for them. In London. Ordinary London, not _your_ London."

"Gérard Delacour was, in his day, one of the best intelligence operatives the French Ministry possessed. Which, to be quite honest, means as good as or better than our best, and more than capable of operating in both worlds. He also read English literature at Oxford. Merton College, mind, not one for only 'our lot'."

"A French James Bond with a taste for English literature, who's also a devoted father when he's not dabbling in politics. Now I've heard everything."

"Dan, stop this at once," Emma said. "Professor McGonagall and her colleagues are doing their best for our daughter. And did I just hear you _insulting_ a man who loves his daughter as much as you love Hermione and who is, right now, searching for both of them?"

His wife's voice quenched his anger, leaving a surprising amount of shame in its wake. "I'm sorry, love. You're right. Please forgive me, Professor."

"Of course I will, Mister Granger. I've never borne a child of my own, but, in a very small way, I have helped to raise quite a number of them. Considering how attached I find myself, I can only barely begin to imagine what it must be like for a parent. Hermione is a delightful girl, and I'm concerned for her, myself. And young Harry is the orphaned son of two of my very favourite students, who died tragically and far too young.

"I'd very much hoped they'd become friends, actually," she added after a brief pause, "but this was the last thing I would have expected to happen."

* * *

"A bookshop, Fleur?" Harry said as she lead them towards a Waterstone's.

"Yes. They will have books of travel. Which should tell us our options. If we cannot reach France without passports, we at least may reach the North of Ireland. It might be... difficult, but I should be able to Veela us through it. Whatever the Muggle situation, Wizarding Ireland is one country. And in Ireland my Tante Babette lives with her husband, Dónal Dubh Mac an tSaoi. They will shelter us and help send us home to France."

Hermione was torn. A bookshop... even if she'd never been in this particular location, it was still the next thing to going home. But the next thing to going home wasn't the same thing as going home. And she wasn't sure about going home, in general, because the concept of "home" now seemed to require a French girl, a green-eyed boy, and a mad little blonde. If she went back to the house she'd grown up in, but couldn't bring them along... she wasn't sure it would be home, anymore. And that thought was terrifying.

They followed Fleur inside and headed for the travel section. Harry's eyes flicked about, following every stray movement of customers and clerks. "I've never actually been inside one of these," he whispered.

Hermione felt almost desperately flattered that he'd chosen to confide in her. So flattered that the full import of his statement didn't hit her for almost a dozen heartbeats. "You've never been in a bookshop?"

"Other than Flourish and Blotts, not really. I was only ever brought along shopping to carry things, and Aunt Petunia said dirty freaks weren't allowed in bookshops. Besides, I don't think she really likes books. Dudley certainly doesn't. I usually get to read his, once he's done tearing them up and scribbling on them. But those are always the ones Aunt Marge gave him because she thought they were the appropriate thing to give, or that Petunia got for him because she wanted to be seen buying them for her clever son. Histories and science books, mostly. Plus the odd Biggles book, or things like _Tom Brown's Schooldays_. But nothing... freakish."

"That's horrible, Harry," she said. "I... well, you can read any of my books. I mean, if you want to."

"I'd like that," he said. "Do... do you have the Chronicles of Narnia? I read the first one, from the school library, but Uncle Vernon caught me and I wasn't allowed the others." He blushed. "I mean, I suppose it's only a kid's book, and..."

"Don't be silly, Harry," she said. "Narnia is wonderful. When all of this is settled... we'll sit down on a sofa or somewhere in a corner with lots of pillows, and read all of them. Together. I mean, if you want to."

"I do," he said. There was an awkward moment of looking at each other, knowing it wouldn't look right to hug and wanting nothing less, and then, very swiftly, they took each other's hands.

Luna added hers to the grip. "I'd like to, as well. If I may?"

"Of course you may, Luna," Hermione said. "It wouldn't feel right without you and Fleur."

Fleur smiled at them, and Hermione wished they were all alone and could cuddle together and not move for about a day and a half. _I hope she gets us an overnight ferry,_ she thought. _We'd share a room, and we could lock the door and push the beds together._ Of course, that was assuming that Fleur's plan would work, but Fleur's plans seemed to work remarkably well. _But we haven't got any pyjamas_, she thought, and couldn't decide if the idea filled her with wonder or dread. Luna would be delighted, of course, but... _Don't think about that until the time comes_, she told herself.

"I think we can do this," Fleur said, after a few minutes' flipping through books, "but it's going to mean trains and buses and quite a lot of bother. And we'll have to make up a very good story for why we haven't got our parents with us."

"But... we're Harry's," Luna said. "And he's an orphan. In fact--you're _the_ Potter, Master. Isn't that good enough?"

"Not to Muggles," Fleur said. "Their rules are different, you see--" she broke off, staring towards the entrance. "_Papa?_" Hermione saw a man, only an inch or two taller than Fleur, looking more like a college professor than anything else, albeit a very graceful one, the sort who probably fenced or did a lot of Tai Chi or something. There was something incongruous about him. Was it his clothes, or his hair? _No. He's wearing a monocle? But nobody uses those anymore_. And then he was embracing Fleur.

She didn't know whether to be delighted, that here at last was an adult who might be on their side, or terrified that he was going to take Fleur and send her away--_I'm sure everyone, even Wizards, even French Wizards, has the equivalent of an Aunt Mildred somewhere_--and they'd never see each other again until they were all grown up.

They were speaking French, too fast for Hermione to follow. She heard bits--friends, love, saved, family?--but there was nothing she could piece together. Then "Papa, might we speak English, please? Hermione has a very nice accent, but she has not yet learnt so very much French. And Harry and Luna haven't got any, for now."

"Well," he said, "we shall have to remedy that. Since all of you are now part of our family..."

"Papa! Truly?"

"Of course, Fleur. No father likes to see his daughter grow up, but... even without this"--he tapped his monocle--"I can see how you feel for each other. And I am not so foolish that I can be claimed by a half-Veela and live for so many happy years with her and not know the signs. So, will you introduce us?" Hermione was surprised to notice that he had much less of an accent than Fleur did, even when she was speaking normally, rather than exaggerating her accent to charm or distract.

And Fleur, brave, self-possessed, capable Fleur, suddenly looked as shaky and nervous as a student about to give her first oral presentation. "Papa," she said, "this is 'Arry Potter. Our, ah..."

"Hello, sir," he said. "I'm Fleur's friend."

"And a bit more, no? I am Gérard Delacour, Harry. And any... friend of my daughter is my friend." They shook hands. "So, you have rescued my daughter, and kept her safe. I am sure your parents would be, no, _are_ proud. They were fine, brave people. I only met them once or twice, but I am sure we would have become friends, had they lived."

"You met my parents, sir? I... I never knew anything about them, before yesterday when I met Hagrid, and... I'm sorry. I didn't _really_ rescue Fleur, it was Hagrid who had the money, and..."

"Ah, Harry. It speaks well for you, that you are so modest. But... you could have done almost anything with my daughter and her friend. They were bought for you, and you had their leashes. But instead you promised to care for them, and made friends of them. That is not something every boy would think to do, confronted with two beautiful girls in a cage."

Harry's face fell. "You mean... it was only magic? Only a spell to make them obey me?"

"No, 'Arry," Fleur said, and hugged him about the shoulders. "It was nothing of the sort. The spells on the collars, on the cage, those could only have made our _bodies_ obey your _commands_, for a while. If they had even been properly cast, as they were not. _Feel_, my 'Arry. Could it be anything other than love between us?"

"What happened was the very opposite thing, Harry," Mr. Delacour said. "You made a promise, and the girls accepted it, and made their own promise in return. And, whatever the other parents may say, _I_ think it was well done."

"Sir?"

"I would ask you to call me Gérard, but I can understand how that might feel awkward for you. I would hope to be, in some small way, as a father to you, Harry, but you have a father already, although he is gone from this Earth, and I never could replace him. So... would you call me 'Uncle'?"

"If you want me to," Harry said. His voice was very flat.

"I am sorry, Harry, I am a fool, sometimes. Having met the gross parody of a man whom you know as an 'uncle,' I should have realised what the term would mean to you. Would 'Oncle Gérard' do? Or is it still too close to the English word? Or are the sounds too foreign?"

Harry's face lit up slowly. His lips worked, as if he were trying the sounds out. "No, Onc' Gérard. Thank you."

"Good lad. I can tell that you will learn our language very well, Harry."

"Of course he will," Luna said. "Our Master is very smart, and good at all sorts of things besides defeating Dark Lords and collecting girls who love him."

"This is Luna Lovegood, Papa," Fleur said. "She..."

"Met Harry and Fleur and Hermione and knew I ought to be Harry's pet, just like them," Luna said. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Delacour. Are you related to Charles Poisson Delacour who wrote _Travels with a Yeti_?"

"He is a distant cousin, I think. I'm very pleased to meet you, Luna. Would you call me Oncle Gérard, also?"

"Thank you. I will, Oncle Gérard."

"You have an excellent ear, _chérie_. I can tell that you will learn French very swiftly."

"Will we come to live with you, Oncle Gérard? I'm sure our Master has a house, somewhere, but he apparently lives with his aunt and uncle, and he thinks they wouldn't like us. I don't know why, though. We're all housebroken, and we'll sleep with him so there'll be no need for another bed of our own. And we'll stay off the furniture, and I promise we'll not make too much noise at night."

Hermione glanced at Mr. Delacour's face, worried about his reaction. She didn't like thinking about how her father would react, if Luna said something like that in _his_ hearing. To her surprise, Mr. Delacour appeared to be desperately trying not to laugh. "Luna," he said, "when you're older, you'll understand that some things a father does not wish to know in such detail. But... yes, I hope you will all come to stay with us."

Hermione was feeling slightly left out, for no very good reason. Then Harry took her hand. "And this is Hermione Granger, Onc' Gérard," he said.

"'Ermione is the first friend I made in England, Papa," Fleur said. "I stopped being afraid as soon as she was, ah... put in with me."

"I am very pleased to meet you, Hermione," Mr. Delacour said. "You're a very brave girl, to comfort my daughter despite your own fears."

"But... Fleur comforted _me_."

"It took both of you, _chérie_. Well done."

"But I didn't _do_ anything, sir. It's just... I was there."

"I hope you'll call me Oncle Gérard, Hermione. And what you say only confirms your bravery. I have met many soldiers and others who had done brave things, so I think that I should know a very brave girl when I see her."

"_Merci, Oncle Gérard,_" she said. He ruffled her hair, which normally irritated her but for some reason it was all right. Perhaps because his touch was feather-light and didn't actually put it out of place.

"So," he said. "It has been a long day. Will you come with me? Minerva, Professor McGonagall, has gone to tell your parents, Hermione. I'm sure they will want to see you. And to meet your new friends."

"Oncle Gérard? If they want to send me to Australia, I'm not sure I want to see them."

"What, Hermione? Are they... cruel to you? I did not think, but..."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "They're not."

"No, my dear, I am not angry with you. It's only... if something is the matter, will you please tell me? There is nothing I will not do to protect my daughter's very dear friend."

"Oh, no," she said. "They're good parents, and they've never done anything bad to me. I've read all about what bad parents can do to children, so I think I ought to know. It's only... I can't believe they'll let me stay with Harry and Fleur and Luna. It was hard enough to convince them to let me go to Hogwarts. I was supposed to go to a good Muggle school, and then to Oxford or maybe Cambridge, and read history or science..."

"I see. Well, perhaps we can convince them, together. Would it be all right if _all_ of you stayed with them, for a while? It might be awkward at first, but I am sure they would see that you are all very good young people, and wonderful to each other."

"Maybe. But... they're Muggles. They haven't got Second Sight, like Luna, and they can't wear a monocle like yours, that lets them _see_ what we mean to each other. They'll think I'm only a silly _child_, and throw words like 'Stockholm Syndrome' about. Perhaps they'll say even the local comprehensive would be better for me than Hogwarts, 'because at least _slavery_ is illegal there,' and they'll never understand that we're not slaves, and..." she ran out of breath, and words.

"I don't know what I can do," Harry said. "But if there's anything I can do, I'll do it. Not because I want to keep you, but because you want to stay with me. I mean, if you do. And, I mean, I _do_ want to keep you, but..."

"I know, Harry," she said. "I want you to keep me. And... I want to keep you, and Fleur, and Luna."

"I may be able to help," Mr. Delacour said. "I am a father, also, and a diplomat. And it might be bad for your health, for the health of all of you, if you are not allowed to remain together. If worse comes to worse, Hermione, well... your decision is up to you, but you are welcome to live in my family's home. In a very real sense, you are my daughter's fiancée."

"Oh." Somehow _that_ hadn't occurred to her.

"Yes, my dear. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Of course not, Oncle Gérard. I... I love them. But we're all so young. And... there are four of us."

"The Wizarding World has long seen certain truths, in a way that our Muggle brothers have not, about love and its relationship to number and gender. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that we have not been able to _not_ see.

"As for your age, it would be preferable, of course, that you would wait until you are a few years older for the... consummation, but if it should prove necessary to formalise your relationship in order to keep you safe, it is possible."

There were a thousand questions Hermione wanted to ask, but she knew it wasn't the time. So she meekly followed her new uncle and her three best beloved friends towards the door.

"Wait," Mr. Delacour said. "We have spent enough time in this shop. We should buy something, to be polite. And I think that the four of you might want some comforting book, to read together before you fall asleep tonight. Would... oh, say, this one be good?" He picked a copy of _Alice In Wonderland_ off the shelf.

They all four looked at each other. "I trust you," Harry said.

"Umm... maybe it's a little too much like today has already been?" Hermione said. "Although you're all much lovelier than the White Rabbit and the Mad Hatter and the Dormouse."

"As you think best, my darling," Fleur said.

"I've already read it," Luna said. "And I shall like whatever book our dear Hermione thinks best."

Mr. Delacour set the book down and picked up another. "How about this one? Or is it too childish for you?"

"No," Hermione said, "_The Wind in the Willows_ is lovely." Suddenly she was worried. _What if Fleur thinks it's babyish? What if Harry thinks it's nonsense? What if Luna... well, thinks Toad is an insulting caricature of toads?_

"I think it is a wonderful book," Fleur said.

"I never was allowed to read it," Harry said, "but I'd like to."

"I agree with Fleur and Hermione," Luna said.

"You are all wise beyond your years," Mr. Delacour said. "You have chosen very well, Fleur. Or perhaps I should say that Providence has been very kind to you."

* * *

Mrs. Badger knocked at the door. "Professor McGonagall," she said, "a gentleman's Firecalled for you. A Mr. Delacour."

"What?" Dan said.

"We communicate by something called the Floo network, Mr. Granger," McGonagall said. "It's much like your telephones, except it also serves us as a means of transit."

"Oh," he said. "Well, then, shouldn't you... wait a minute. Mrs. Badger is one of your lot? Just what sort of game have you been playing with us, Professor?"

"Dan, behave yourself," Emma said.

"Actually, Mr. Granger," McGonagall said, "I had no idea you were staying with a Squib until I divined your whereabouts in order to tell you I'd seen Hermione in that villain's ledger. I'm not sure how you picked Mrs. Badger's B&B, but I'm inclined to say it was the result of... _co_-incidence, in the original sense of 'things which occur together.' The parents of Muggleborns are often more sensitive to magic than the typical Muggle; it is quite possible that your subconscious instincts drew you here."

"Think, Dan," Emma said. "If Professor McGonagall _were_ trying to deceive us, wouldn't she have told her co-conspirator to be more subtle? To tell her someone had, oh, telephoned?"

"All right," he said. "Hadn't you better take your call, Professor?"

"I suppose I had," she said. "Would it make you feel better to come with me, to see that we are treating you honestly?"

"I... Emma?"

"Perhaps we should."

They followed McGonagall to the door. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger are coming with me to take Mr. Delacour's call. If you don't mind?"

"Of course not, Professor," Mrs. Badger said.

They went back through the kitchen, into what must have been Mrs. Badger's private quarters. "I keep the Floo in here," she said, "so there's no fear of my Muggle guests seeing something they should not. Most of them aren't the parents of a Muggleborn like yourselves, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, so you'll understand I must be careful."

The flames in the grate had an odd cast to them, and the image of a man's head floated amid them. He had a pleasant face, black hair with traces of grey at the temple, and a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard. "Ah, my dear Minerva," he said, in a light French accent. "I have found my Fleur and her friends, and they are very well, thank God."

"Wonderful," McGonagall said. "Gérard, these are Dan and Emma Granger. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, this is Gérard Delacour."

**Here endeþ ðe chapter.**


	4. A Pleasant Evening?

Oncle Gérard sat them in a snug in the back room of the Leaky Cauldron, and ordered a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. "It might be more difficult, to find biscuits in a Muggle pub," he said, "but there are some advantages to our dear Wizarding world, yes?"

"Luna," Hermione said, once he'd left to Firecall Professor McGonagall, "my darling pet-sister, please understand something. I love you, and... you and Harry and Fleur and I know that we're his pets. In private, just the four of us... we'll wear our collars, and call Harry 'Master' and each other 'pet-sister.' We can even--"she blushed, but she knew she had to offer _something_ as a bargain--"dress the way you'd like us to. In private." She paused, not sure how to continue.

"But," Fleur said gently, "I t'ink what our 'Ermione wants to say is that her parents, they will not understand, sweet Luna."

"Oh. But... my Daddy understands, and Oncle Gérard understands, and I'm sure that Harry's parents in Heaven understand. Why wouldn't your parents, Hermione?"

"They'll have to understand, eventually, Luna," Hermione said. "But for now... if we call Harry 'Master' in front of them... it could be very bad. They don't understand that we're pets because we love Harry and he loves us, not because of spells or drugs or the fact that he bought us. It's going to be hard enough for them to accept that we love each other, that we're not just silly children with a crush."

"I see," Luna said softly. "As long as... can we still hold hands? And hug, if we need to? And sleep together? I've really been looking forward to that."

"I'll sleep in another bed, if that would make them feel better," Harry said. "I don't know if I'll sleep very well, but I'm used to that. And surely they'll let you girls stay together. I mean... I don't know much about girls, but I'm pretty sure somebody told me it was all right if girls shared beds with each other."

"I don't know if any of us will be able to sleep if we're not _all_ together," Fleur said. "But we will see. A sleepless night or two... if we must. But not unless there's no other choice."

"If we have to," Hermione said.

"If we have to," Harry said. "I don't want to take you away from your parents, Hermione. I never got to know mine, you know."

"I know, Harry," Hermione said, and clasped his hand. "I want you to know my parents. I think they'll like you, if they can open up their eyes. But I don't know if they can. And if they can't... I'll take Oncle Gérard's offer." There, she'd said it. Harry's eyes were wide. Somehow she knew what she had to say. "If I have to, I will. I love you, and Fleur, and Luna, Harry. I wouldn't be only doing it for you, I'd be doing it for them. And for me, because I'm not sure I can live without you. And because turning my back on the three of you would mean turning my back on magic as well."

"You wouldn't have to, Hermione," Harry said.

"I couldn't. It's as simple as that. I am Hermione Granger. I am a Witch who was born in Oxford with a pair of Muggle dentists for her parents. And I love Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour, and Luna Lovegood. That's the way it is, Harry. _Master_ Harry."

"I love you, Hermione," Luna said. "If Master and all of us keeping you means I have to not call him "Master" and not call you "pet-sister," I will. I'll even take my collar off, if I must." She trembled slightly as she reached for the buckle.

"Per'aps," Fleur said gently, "our dear Master 'Arry might take off our pet-sister Luna's collar for her?"

"Would you?" Luna said.

"Of course. I'll do anything for my wonderful pet Luna." He looked slightly sheepish, as if he'd only realised what he'd said a few seconds after the words left his mouth. _It's an adorable expression, actually,_ Hermione thought. _Almost as adorable as him saying "wonderful pet Luna."_

Luna had already been sitting close to him; now she pressed herself against his side. He put his arm about her shoulders. "Could I sit in your lap, please, Master?"

"Of course."

She settled herself in place. "Is that all right?"

"Yes." Harry hugged her, and she turned her face to nuzzle his cheek. He rubbed his cheek against her. _That looks really nice,_ Hermione thought to herself. _I hope he lets me sit in his lap, sometime soon. And I hope Luna will sit in my lap and nuzzle my face as well._ Somehow the sure, calm knowledge flooded her that he would, that she would, and so would Fleur.

She reached out and took one of Luna's hands in both her own. Fleur gave her a quick approving half smile and took the other. "All right, sweet Luna?" Fleur said softly.

"Yes," Luna said. "I'm always all right, with the three of you, darling Fleur. Please, Master Harry? Would you do it? So we can keep our Hermione?"

He unbuckled the collar. Very softly, he stroked Luna's throat. She purred like a cat and raised her chin, pressing herself into the caress. "Would you like me to keep this, Luna? I mean... until I can put it back on you?"

"Would you, Harry? Please?"

"I will." He folded the collar, kissed it, and slipped it into his breast pocket.

"Would you keep mine, also?" Hermione said, taking her collar from the pocket where she'd stuffed it a few hours earlier in the front room of the Cauldron, feeling grateful to have the thing off her neck at last. She was surprised at the change a few hours had made in her feelings. The leather felt soft in her hand, and for a moment she desperately wished that Harry would buckle it back on her.

"Yes." He took it from her, kissed it, and put it next to Luna's. She felt very warm, somehow, seeing that kiss, although part of her wished that Harry had kissed her throat where the collar would rest instead.

Fleur's collar was ready in her hand. "T'ank you, dear _Maître_ 'Arry," she said as he kissed it and put it with the other three. "I look forward to you putting them back on us."

"Thank you," he said. "Umm... shouldn't there be something for you to put on me? I mean, it doesn't seem quite fair, somehow."

"Other than many, many kisses?" Fleur said. "And a ring, someday? Well... perhaps we'll think of something."

Hermione looked towards the door, very swiftly. There was nobody about. "Master? Could I give you that kiss we were talking about? Please?"

Harry blushed. "If you want to," he said. "But... why now?"

"I'll explain later," Fleur said. "But for now, whilst there is no one watching, it would be very nice if our wonderful _Maître_ would kiss all of his pets on the lips. Starting with the lovely Hermione, of course."

"I think we could all fit on this side," Luna said. "If we don't mind being close together."

They didn't, of course. Hermione climbed in next to Harry and Luna, and Fleur next to her. "Do you want to sit in Master's lap, Hermione?" Luna said. "I'll move." She slid off his lap, to the opposite side, and before she could think about it Hermione found herself sitting in his lap.

It felt more comfortable than she could have imagined, even though his knees were bony beneath his jeans. She turned her face towards him; it was startling to realise how close together they were. Her eyes met his. "May I take your glasses off?"

"Of course, Hermione." She lifted them off, folded them, and laid them on the table. "May I kiss you?" he said. "Although... I'm afraid I don't quite know what to do. I mean... I've heard people say there were things to do with your tongue..."

"It is all right, 'Arry," Fleur said. Her hand was feather light, caressing his cheek and then Hermione's. "We will have many years to learn all of that, together."

"Please, Harry," Hermione whispered. "Kiss me." She didn't know if she should pucker her lips first, or... somehow their lips were together. She was vaguely irritated with herself for not having thought it all the way through. After all, it was her first kiss. Her first proper kiss, in any event, not counting relations and her best friend Polly when they were six and playing house. _Oh. We're still kissing. That _is _rather nice._ She put her hand on Harry's shoulder, and let her other arm creep about his back. He folded her in his arms. There weren't any sparks behind her eyelids or rockets going off or any of the dramatic things that seemed to happen in the books with underlined bits that the girls passed about at school, but it was very, very nice.

They finally unlocked their lips. "Good heavens," Hermione said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Harry said. "It was wonderful. You're wonderful." He stroked the back of her neck, beneath her ponytail. "My Hermione."

"I mean... everyone had to sit here watching us for ever and ever, and will there be time for you to kiss Luna and Fleur before Oncle Gérard comes back?"

"_Chérie_," Fleur said, "it was a lovely sight. And you only kissed for thirty seconds, if that long."

"But it felt like... minutes and minutes. Maybe ten or fifteen?"

"No, darling," Fleur said.

"Fleur should have the next kiss," Luna said. "After all, I already got to sit in Harry's lap."

Hermione didn't want to move. But she knew she had to. "Let me up, Fleur? Then you can move in next to Harry."

"No," Luna said. "Why don't you sit in my lap, Hermione?"

"But you're smaller than I am. I might crush you."

"No, you'll not. And I would like to have Hermione sit in my lap."

"Will you tell me if I hurt you? Please?"

"I will. But you won't." Hermione slid off Harry's lap. It was nice, actually, to have someone else to cuddle with. She thought she might have felt adrift, otherwise, after the sudden closeness of Harry's embrace and their kiss. But Luna hugged her tightly. And it was nice to watch Fleur maneuver herself into Harry's lap. The French girl was almost as much taller than Harry as Hermione was taller than Luna. It was funny that Hermione hadn't really noticed that before. Then again, they'd all only known each other less than a day. It was hard to remember that. It seemed as if Harry and Fleur and Luna ought to have been there in her earliest memories, as if they _had_ been there, only she'd not been conscious of them.

Harry and Fleur bumped noses. That was cute. It was even cuter when they finally did meet lip to lip. Fleur was as nervous and as tentative as Harry. As they watched, Luna nuzzled Hermione's face. Somehow they were both holding each other, now. She looked the little blonde in her soft grey eyes, and moments later they were kissing each other. It was quite as nice as kissing Harry, really. A little voice at the back of Hermione's mind said there was something strange about this, but she told it to stifle itself. _If this is strange, then I like being strange._

Oh. Fleur and Harry were watching them, now. "I think Luna should have her own kiss with 'Arry," Fleur said. "And me, I would like to kiss 'Ermione's lips. If I may?"

"Of course, Fleur," Hermione said. "I'd like that." She shifted over Harry's lap, somehow finding his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze in passing. And then Fleur pulled her into her own lap.

"Are you sure, sweet?" Fleur said softly. "I don't mind if... if this is too much kissing, right now."

"No, Fleur, it's not. I'd like to kiss you. Unless you don't want to?"

"Of course not. I would very much like to kiss sweet 'Ermione."

"I'm not too heavy in your lap, am I? You'll tell me if I'm hurting you?"

"Of course I will. But you are not. And... I think we have talked quite enough, for the moment." Fleur's eyes twinkled; she blinked, as if she were willing back tears. _But... I love her. I hope the thought of kissing me isn't so horrible it makes her cry._ And then Fleur's lips were on hers, and they were kissing. Fleur's arms were about her, and she was hugging Fleur. She brought her right hand up Fleur's spine and stroked the back of her neck. It had felt awfully nice when Harry did that to her, and she hoped it might feel the same for Fleur. _Assuming that holding me tighter and stroking my hair means 'Yes,' I suppose it must._

They broke the kiss at last. "_Je t'aime, ma migonne,_" Fleur whispered. "Look over there. Are they not sweet?"

Hermione glanced over at Luna and Harry. Luna was nuzzling Harry's cheek, and might have been licking him, slightly, much as she had in the street moments after they first met, but this time Harry's eyes were closed and his hand was stroking her hair. She followed his jaw, and at last brought her lips to his. It was a soft little kiss; Hermione had the feeling that as they grew older kisses would become much more intense and complicated, in a way that school sex education curricula couldn't begin to explain. But for now... this was as lovely as anything she could imagine.

"Am I a good pet, Master?" Luna whispered.

"You are a fabulous pet, Luna. Just like your darling pet-sisters."

"Thank you, Master." Luna sighed. "And I suppose now we should eat our biscuits and drink our tea, and pretend we're only Harry and Fleur and Luna and Hermione, not a master and his pets, so that we don't have to run away to Australia to steal our Hermione back?"

"I'm afraid we should," Harry said.

"Yes," Fleur said, "unfortunately. But first, my loves..." She reached out and caught all three of them in a tight, awkward, wonderful hug. "And may I kiss you, Luna?"

"Of course," Luna said. "No, don't move, Hermione. I'm sure Fleur will let me sit in her lap later. This is fine for now." Hermione leant back and to the side, letting them bring their faces together. Her right hand stayed on Fleur's back, and with her left she stroked Luna's spine. After a moment, Harry's fingers twined with hers.

* * *

Some forces wait for no man, Wizard or Muggle, fullblood human _bourgeois_ or part-Veela _noble de l'épée_. Gérard Delacour had chosen to answer the call of nature before he called Minerva. On his way to the Floo from the water closet, compelled by some paternal instinct, he stepped swiftly and quietly into the back room of the Cauldron, and just as swiftly and quietly left.

"_Bon_," he said to himself, smiling. _Apolline will want to see this memory in a Pensieve._ It was probably just as well his wife was not there; her full-Veela mother had given her some odd notions. He hoped she was only joking about wanting to watch their daughter's first kiss, but he didn't want to find out for certain. _For one thing, I am far happier thinking that my dear mother-in-law did not actually watch ours._ Not least because theirs had come at the advanced ages of twenty-three and twenty-five, at the end of more than ten years of sustained awkwardness with bouts of flirtation, had lasted for at least a half hour, and had barely stopped short of clothes-removal.

Silent and wandless, he cast a mild privacy charm that would last for some fifteen minutes, enough to protect the children from casual gawkers and officious busybodies who could not tell the difference between genuine love and affection and unwise experimentation, and went on his way. The Grangers would doubtless be eager to see their daughter; a pause to chat with Tom and drink a half-pint of his excellent mild ale would give said daughter and her friends enough time to steel themselves for the joyful reunion-cum-awkward introduction that was surely in their immediate future. _Saint Valentine, pray for us that this may be no more painful than it must be. And that the dear girl who loves my daughter does not lose her parents even as she has gained her future husband and wives._

* * *

"Mister Granger, Mrs. Granger," Delacour said. "I am very pleased to meet you. You have raised a very bright and brave daughter."

"Hermione," Dan said, not able to think of anything else. "How is she? Where is she?"

"She is very well," Delacour said. "She and her friends are here in the Leaky Cauldron. Would you like to come through and see them?"

"Gérard," McGonagall said. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"I am, Minerva. The Grangers should meet their daughter's friends, and it would be good for them to have a better glimpse of the world in which she will be living, also."

"Wait a minute," Dan said. "Why can't she come here?"

"She could," Delacour said, "but I would like to stand you all a good meal, and I think it would be less difficulty for you to come here to the Cauldron than for all of us to go out from Mrs. Badger's door."

"Don't be rude, Dan," Emma said. "Let's go."

"Mrs. Badger," Delacour said, "would you care to join us?"

She coloured. "I'd be delighted, Mr. Delacour, but I'm afraid I really must stay here and keep an eye on my business. My daughter has the night off, you see."

"If you are sure," he said. She nodded. "Very well, then." He made some motion, and the odd-coloured patch of flame expanded into a doorway. "Please come through, Mr. and Mrs. Granger."

* * *

There were butterflies in her stomach. _Stop it_, Hermione thought to herself. _They won't send you to Aunt Muriel. They love you. And, Muggle or not, they'll see how much you love Harry and Fleur and Luna. They agreed you'd go to Hogwarts, remember? If they can deal with owls bringing letters and Professor McGonagall transfiguring the teapot into a tortoise and back again, they can deal with this. _

_As long as Luna doesn't insist on Harry playing fetch with her or something, we'll be fine. And she won't. At least not until my parents aren't watching._ And then... well, the thought of watching her friends... her _beloved_ friends... play was really rather nice. Fleur's family had an estate in southern France where it was warm, and surely there would be a nice meadow for the four of them to be alone in, or even a private beach. Hermione and Fleur would cuddle on a blanket or plait each other's hair whilst they watched Harry and Luna, and perhaps they'd join in the game as well. She reckoned that in the end Luna would relent and wear a swimming costume, and Harry could probably be convinced to strip down to trunks, himself.

Speaking of Harry, he looked on the edge of panic. "Your dad hasn't got a shotgun, has he, Hermione?"

"Of course not, Harry," she said. "You know... once they get over the shock, they're going to love you. I'm sure of it."

He didn't look convinced. "Harry," Luna said, "think about our Hermione. She's bright and brave and wonderful. How could the parents who raised her be anything but just like her?"

"I wouldn't know," Harry said. "The only parents I've ever seen were people like the Dursleys."

"And zeir children, zey were just like your cousin, _non_?" Fleur said. "If our 'Ermione's parents were like zem, she would not be our 'Ermione."

Harry looked shocked. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I didn't mean that I thought your parents were like my aunt and uncle. It's only..."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said. She wanted desperately to hug him. "I didn't think you did." She looked towards the door. Oncle Gérard had said that he'd bring her parents back here, so they could have privacy for their reunion and for the first meeting with her beloved friends. _The coast is clear,_ she thought, and reached out to take Harry's hand. "Don't worry, love."

"I can't promise," he said, "but I'll try."

"Trying is all we can ask," Fleur said. "But I am sure you will succeed, M--_mon_ 'Arry."

Someone's feet scuffled loudly on the floor outside. _Merci beaucoup, Oncle Gérard_, Hermione thought, and squeezed Harry's hand one last time before letting go.

"Hermione!" her mother said. Her father couldn't speak at all. It might have been minutes before either would let her go. She was so very glad to see them. But she couldn't stop thinking about her Harry, her Fleur, and her Luna. _Will Daddy threaten Harry? Will Mum think Luna needs professional help? Will Daddy call Fleur a tart?_

"Mum, Dad," she said at last, "these are my... friends. This is Fleur Delacour. She... I don't want to think what would've happened if I hadn't met her in that awful man's... shop."

"I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Granger, Mrs. Granger," Fleur said. "'Ermione gave me ze strengt' to not fall apart."

"And this is Harry Potter, who rescued us."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger. I... I didn't really do anything, but... your daughter and Fleur are the first friends I've ever had. Please don't be angry at them."

"We're not angry at them, Harry," her mother said. "We're not angry at anyone in this room. Most particularly, we're not angry at you. Isn't that right, Dan?"

"Right. Pleased to meet you, Harry." To her surprise, he stuck out his hand. _Not bad, _c_onsidering that I'd expected him to say "Hello, young man. Do you know that I've spent an hour working out on the punching bag every morning since I was younger than you are?"_

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Harry said. _Good. Daddy didn't try to crush his hand._

"And this is Luna," Hermione said. _I'm not even going to try explaining. I'm sure Professor McGonagall and Oncle Gérard have said something._

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger. Hermione is one of the nicest girls I've ever met. She and Fleur haven't even made fun of my earrings! My friend Ginevra's the only other girl I know who hasn't done, and I think that's only because we've known each other since we were two."

"Of course she hasn't made fun of them, Luna," Emma said. "They're perfectly lovely."

"Thank you, Mrs. Granger," Luna said, and much to Hermione's surprise, she was blushing. _How adorable she is_, Hermione thought.

Dinner was better than Hermione had dared hope for. Not the food, although it was very good, but the calm and cheer that lay over the table. Professor McGonagall told a long story about how Laird Alasdair, her favourite uncle, held a great hunt for wild haggis every year on the day before Robert Burns' birthday, complete with handwaving gestures illustrating how the ghillies would drive the herd of haggis across the heath to the waiting shooting party.

At seven or eight years of age, Hermione would have declared that haggis was a stuffed sheep's stomach and a _teacher,_ of all people, shouldn't tell lies, especially to poor Harry who'd never left Surrey. Even a few weeks ago, she might have seethed inwardly through the whole story. But now, all she could think was that she was amazed how the elegant, formal Professor McGonagall could also be witty and cheerful, if not downright silly. _I used to think that when I had a Chair at Oxford I'd be formal and grand, like the Queen dressed in an academic gown, and terrify undergraduates merely by looking at them. But now... I think I want to grow up to be more like Professor McGonagall._

Her father and mother told the story of how they met when her father upset a punt on the river one bright spring day in his second year of university and her mother and her mother's cousin Juliet rescued him. The story always changed slightly, but this time her mother insisted that there had been an escaped hippopotamus from a nearby safari park in the river with them, which animal they had been forced to hold off with punting poles until the keepers arrived with a basket of yams and a very large net. Oncle Gérard congratulated Emma for her courage with a wink; Hermione couldn't decide if Professor McGonagall took the story at face value or not.

Oncle Gérard insisted that nothing so interesting had ever happened in his life, but when pressed he revealed that a very wealthy young man from his year at Beauxbatons had gone on to become a famous hunter, until the day he went off to hunt bear in a mysterious Wizarding enclave in Siberia. "It was ten years before any of us heard from him, and we all presumed he had long since been eaten. But then, one bright spring morning, what arrived at our breakfast table but a very valiant and very tired eagle owl? He paused only to deliver his message, and to consume an entire basket of croissants and three cups of black coffee before winging on his way. And what do you think was his message?" "What, Papa?" Fleur said.

"A letter, of course, chérie, from my long-lost friend. The story he told was profound, and startling. Three times had he gone out to find the bear, and each time the bear, she--for this was a she-bear he tracked, a powerful she-bear well-skilled in her bear-like trade--she defeated him, thoroughly. And each time she demanded a forfeit, of course... some of this story must wait until you are older, I think. But the third time... why, she revealed to him that she was no ordinary bear. She was a bear-woman!

"They were married within the fortnight, and he enclosed a photograph of himself, his lovely wife, and their five children. And here it is!" He produced a small photograph from his breast-pocket, and passed it round. It was the usual Wizarding kind, black and white like an oldfashioned snap, but with the figures of a slender man, his vaguely Indian-looking wife, and their children waving cheerfully at the viewer.

"But... Oncle Gérard," Hermione couldn't help but say, "they... don't look like bears."

"But of course, chérie. Bear people only look like bears when they are out in the wilderness, living as bears do."

"But... are you sure your friend wasn't joking?"

"I prefer to believe that he is telling the truth, dear Hermione." He shrugged. "But, either way... I think he is happy. And that is what counts the most, _non_?"

"Yes," she said. _I don't think I would have agreed, a few weeks ago,_ she thought to herself. But Harry and Fleur and Luna had changed that for her. It was startling, but she thought she liked this new version of herself.

Fleur smiled at her from across the table, and she dared a quick glance to Harry at her right side. Her parents were distracted, and she leant over to whisper in his ear. "See? No shotguns."

"Yet," he whispered back. She couldn't decide if she wanted to punch him or hug him. Neither would do, so she narrowed her eyes at him until she couldn't suppress the grin. Then it was all either of them could do not to burst out laughing.

Hastily, they both snapped their eyes front. Fortunately, her father was still discussing the last Six Nations game with Oncle Gérard and her mother was talking about the differences between Wizarding and Muggle detective novels with Professor McGonagall. Fleur winked at them, and Luna leant forward in her chair. "Were you talking about the conflict in America between the mush-mouthed snail darters and the purple-banded crayfish?"

"No, Luna, we weren't," Hermione said.

"That's good. I didn't think you were."

The only problem with dinner was that there weren't any problems. It made Hermione nervous about the night to come. _If Daddy's been holding back all evening, it will only make the blow-up worse when he hears that all four of us have to sleep in the same bed._

At last, when pudding was eaten and the adults had finished their coffee, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Our young people have had a long day, and no doubt they're wanting to go to bed."

"I am tired," Fleur said. Luna was nodding in her chair, almost slumping onto Fleur's shoulder. And Harry looked more than a little bleary-eyed.

"I suppose--" Hermione's yawn cut off her words. "Yes."

"Would it be all right if they stayed with you, Dan and Emma? I am sure that either Minerva or myself can alter your rooms as needed."

"Yes," Hermione's mother said. _How strange,_ Hermione thought, _I didn't notice when they changed to first names._ Then she thought about sleeping arrangements, and her palms began to sweat. _I'm not sure I can sleep without all three of them, but... Jesus, I've only ever been to church for the music and I've never really thought I believed in You, but... won't You please stop my Daddy trying to kill my Harry?_

She was on tenterhooks the whole way back to Mrs. Badger's B&B. She barely even noticed the trip through the Floo, even though it was something she'd only read about previously and she'd been fascinated by the idea of travelling through a fire. She cast the powder, said "The Seaside Badger," and stepped through. Moments later, she was standing in front of the grate next to Fleur, waiting for the rest to come through.

Mrs. Badger had gone to check on her supply of linens, and for only a moment they were alone. Fleur gripped her hand, briefly, briefly. And then the fire flared up again, and Harry came through.

Floo travel didn't agree with him, apparently. He stumbled and fell, straight onto Hermione. Fleur tried to brace her, but her effort only resulted in all three of them falling to the floor. _Oh dear. My head's on Fleur's stomach, and Harry's face is on my chest. It feels wonderful, but..._

"That looks fun," Luna said, "but I didn't think we were going to do things like that where your parents could see, Hermione. Should I fall down on top of Harry, or should I help you up? I'm sorry that I have to ask, but I don't know anything about Muggle customs."

"I t'ink we should get up _toute suite_," Fleur said.

Hermione didn't know how they did it, but somehow they got up off the floor before the adults came through. And then Mrs. Badger was back. "My dear, it's wonderful to see you back. We were all so very worried. And... are you engaged? How perfectly lovely!"

"Yes," Professor McGonagall said. "It's been an eventful day for all of us."

Hermione was so busy worrying that she didn't notice what Mrs. Badger had said for about fifteen minutes. _How did she know? Well, perhaps Oncle Gérard or Professor McGonagall said something._

She went upstairs in a daze. Oncle Gérard had gone ahead with her parents. _At least he'll be there. He'll be able to stop Daddy killing Harry without either of them being hurt, I think. I hope._

_Something_ had been done with both her parents' room and her own little single. The intervening wall had been taken out, and she could have sworn there was more space than the laws of physics should have allowed. There were two beds; her parents' was just as it had been, but in place of the little bed that had been there was one which was, if anything, slightly larger than her parents', complete with a thick duvet and four large pillows.

"I hope you don't mind sleeping here," Oncle Gérard said, "but we thought it would make your mother and father more comfortable for the first night or two, Hermione."

"Yes," her mother said.

"I've conjured you all pyjamas," Professor McGonagall said. "They've got red and white stripes--I thought dancing monkeys and Kneazles might be a bit much." Harry and Fleur blushed. Luna looked slightly disappointed.

"It's fine," Hermione said. "It's lovely. But... Mum, Daddy, are you sure? I mean... I want to, but... I thought you were going to kill Harry when you found out."

"It's so lovely to see that you'll have friends at school, Hermione," her mother said. "The fact that they're... more than just friends scarcely matters, after that."

"I became resigned to the fact that I'd someday have a son-in-law quite a long time ago," her father said. "This is earlier than I'd expected, but... well, you're a good lad, Harry. And this way I've got plenty of time to teach you to drink decent whisky _before_ the wedding."

She didn't know what to say. _If I were a cartoon character_, a little voice in the back of her head said, _I'd be picking my jaw up off the floor right now._

"Gérard told us a bit about, err... _magical_ bonds and the Veela business," her father said. "Thought it was a load of... rubbish, to be honest, but I'll be... blasted if I can't almost see something, myself."

"Definitely," her mother said. "Perhaps there's more to this magic business than I credited."

"That said," her father added, "you'll change into your pyjamas separately, please. There are some things a father prefers not to know about."

Hermione was still blushing twenty minutes later when, face scrubbed and teeth cleaned, she climbed into bed between Fleur and Harry. Luna was already curled against Harry's side, drowsing, or at least pretending to.

Hermione risked a quick glance across the room. Her parents were reading in bed and ostentatiously not looking in their direction. "Are you too sleepy," Fleur said, "or would you like to read a bit of zis?" She held up the copy of _The Wind in the Willows_ her father had bought them that afternoon.

"I'd love to," Hermione whispered, "but what if we wake Luna?"

"I'm awake," Luna said, "just not very. And I would love to listen."

So she began reading, in a soft voice: "The Mole had been working very hard all the morning..."

After a while, Fleur's arm slipped about her shoulder, and Harry's hand clasped the one of hers that wasn't holding the book. Luna rolled over, reaching her arm across Harry's stomach, and laid her hand over Harry's and Hermione's.

Midway through the chapter, almost as if they'd planned it out in advance, Fleur took over the reading. And, with suspiciously good timing, her parents clicked their light off just as Fleur reached the end of the chapter. "I t'ink zat's a sign," she whispered.

"Mmm, yes. I could sleep now," Hermione whispered back.

"_Chérie_," Fleur said, "I don't know 'ow to turn off the light."

"Oh. Sorry." Hermione reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp. "Do you not...?"

"Papa 'as an electric lamp in 'is study, but I 'ave never used it, and we 'ave no others at 'ome. Magical candles and oil lamps, they are brighter than the Muggle ones, and they don't start fires by accident. An _les elfes de maison_, they don't much like the electric. They say it smells bad and makes funny noises."

"Elves?" Hermione said. "There really are elves?"

"Not like in the books of Monsieur le Professeur Tolkien, I'm afraid. More like in your _contes fées_, I think. They are funny little people, very sweet, but funny. They work for us, and they... _they_ say we own them, but I t'ink sometimes that they just as much own us."

"Sort of like you three and me," Harry whispered. Luna mumbled something, and rubbed her face against his shoulder.

"Except that... well, let us sleep," Fleur whispered. Hermione didn't quite understand why she sounded so embarassed.

_I should understand_, she thought, as she lay in Fleur's arms, Harry in hers and Luna a warm presence just beyond him, _I really should. And I've got a feeling I'll feel like a silly little kid as soon as I do. But... my, this is nice..._

_**Here endeþ ðe chapter.**  
_


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